Clay Was Always Good To Me
by Rowling Tolkin and Riordan
Summary: Alternate title: Four Scenes of a Dying Man. Takes place before season one. The first time someone showed Jestro respect, he had mistaken it for love. Warning: self-harm.


The sounds of laughter rang in my ears, but only until they were drowned out by the voice of the only person who loved me. "I thought it was good."

I smiled for the first time in days. "Thanks. That means a lot to me."

Clay smiled back and put a hand on my shoulder. "You worked hard. It's important to keep trying, even if some people don't appreciate what you're doing."

"Yeah. You're right. But you appreciate me. You notice me. You don't laugh at me."

"Because I love you, and I could never laugh at someone I loved." Clay left a kiss on my forehead and walked away. "Keep practicing."

I reached up to touch the spot his lips had met my skin and stared at the space he had been in a second before. "I will."

A week later, I stood shaking with silent tears in a dark corner of the castle. It had been a long day and I hadn't slept for two nights. I was exhausted and humiliated. I deserved to cry.

Clay found me and pulled me into his arms. He didn't say anything, he just held me there, letting me know that I wasn't alone.

It took a second, but I leaned into his chest and admitted that I was broken. I sobbed into his shoulder for a good three minutes before I felt better.

"Jestro, are you going to be okay?"

I hated it when he asked me that. I hated it that time and every other time. I hated that I had to say yes or he would worry. I hated that he worried himself over me. I shook my head and broke down again. I was so stupid and useless and I wanted to die.

"Don't say things like that. Your life matters."

Classic. I had said that out loud. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. It's just… sometimes I feel so bad about all this. I really do want to die sometimes."

Clay pulled my hat off and ran his fingers through my hair, kissing the bridge of my nose. "You matter so much. I'm so glad you aren't dead. Whenever you feel like no one cares, just come talk to me. You deserve so much better than this."

I nodded and he let go. Outside his arms, the air was cold and cruel. I looked at him for help. What was I supposed to do when he wasn't here?

He smiled. "Don't worry so much. I can tell you're getting better." He turned and left without another word.

Three days after that, I knocked on his door at twilight. "Clay? Are you in there?"

"Yeah, I'm here." The door slid open. Clay smiled and nodded. "Evening Jestro. What brings you here at this hour?"

I wasn't sure how to start, so I just said I wanted to talk.

He let me in and set me down on the edge of the bed. "Talk about what? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I just…" I took a deep breath and looked into his eyes. Before I could get lost, I said what I same here to say. "Will you make love to me?"

Clay took a second to process this. His shoulders dropped and his eyes went dark. "Jestro… I… I would love to, you know that. But I can't. I'm a knight."

I rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. Was I crying? Probably. I was probably crying. I was such a fool. "You're not a knight yet. Besides, who would know?"

"Jestro… if we were caught, I would never be a knight. I love you, but I can't take that risk."

"Why? What did I ever do to you? Why do you tease me like this?"

Clay put his lips on mine; not a kiss, just enough to make me stop talking. He pulled back and looked at my face. "You're so stupid. You can't do anything right. You don't…" He looked away. "You don't matter."

The words crushed me. I struggled to find the right answer. "You- you can't- you're lying! You said… you said you loved me. Why won't you _love me_?"

An hour later, I sat alone in my room with a knife and a voice in my head telling me that there was no reason to stay. Everyone hated me. Clay hated me. I had asked Clay to break the knight's code and he had chosen himself over me, like I had always known he would. No one cared about me. No one would notice if I just disappeared.

I took a deep breath and watched the candle flame reflect off the blade of the knife. It was so sharp. I wouldn't feel anything. I lost my nerve. I put the knife down and closed my eyes. It wasn't worth it. I wouldn't do it. I decided to go to sleep. I would live through this hell because I was afraid to die. No. I wasn't afraid to die. I was afraid of what would happen if I survived killing myself.

The steel bit into my wrist before I knew I was even holding it again. Red stained my sleeve and dripped onto the floor. It was so pretty. My wrist hurt, but not as much as I thought it would. The blood didn't scare me. It encouraged me. I could bleed. I was human. I could die if I wanted.

I glanced around. The blood was getting everywhere. I gathered some onto my finger and put it on my tongue. It tasted like metal and salt. I ran my tongue along the cut and watched more blood slip through the crack and gather into tiny pearls on my skin.

I wouldn't die tonight. I would give the world another chance. I could always just cut my throat if it got to be too much.

A month later, my arms were covered in scars, but I was still breathing. I counted that as a victory. Clay was still trying to act civil around me, but I could tell he didn't want to talk to me. I had to make it up to him somehow.

I approached him one evening in the hall and tried to apologize. "Clay, I'm sorry for asking you to sleep with me. I was just being silly."

"Not at all." He smiled and grabbed my hand. "I was being silly. I told you that I would help you, and you came to me and told me what you needed. I was selfish and ignored what you needed most. You needed to be with me, and I got scared. I'm sorry for turning you down so rudely."

"Oh, that's alright. Can we still be friends?"

"Of course. And please, you can sleep in my room any time you want. I can't promise it'll be very exciting, but I'm told I'm good company when you're feeling down."


End file.
